<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>One Last Name by simpletumbleweedfarmer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608087">One Last Name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpletumbleweedfarmer/pseuds/simpletumbleweedfarmer'>simpletumbleweedfarmer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Gen, Kira has to raise a kid now, Original Character(s), Sister-Sister Relationship, i just want kira to be happy and have a family, kira has to raise a traumatized kid, that along the way they needed each other, that's what this is, they eventually learn they really do love each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:22:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpletumbleweedfarmer/pseuds/simpletumbleweedfarmer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine names.</p>
<p>Through her (admittedly short life), Myranda has had nine different names. </p>
<p>Nine different identities, nine different people. </p>
<p>Now she has a new one. She's Kira Myranda now, the girl who was snatched from her home on Cardassia, plopped on a space station in the middle of nowhere with an aunt named Kira Nerys who may hate her for war crimes she was too young to remember. The only thing that Myranda and her aunt share is the last name of Kira and the fact that they most definitely do not need a family. Or each other. </p>
<p>And nothing is going to change that. Nothing will ever make Myranda accept her new name as Kira Myranda.</p>
<p>Absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Even seven years on a space station together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kira Nerys &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nine and Ten (Season 1, episode 1: Emissary, parts 1 & 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, before you read this I wanted to explain where I got the idea from and hopefully give you an explanation for a few details.</p>
<p>I grew up watching Star Trek, and I watched Deep Space Nine when I was fourteen. I absolutely adored Kira Nerys. She was everything I wanted to be and I just thought she was the absolute coolest character I had ever seen. Honestly, shout-out to the writers for creating such an amazing female character who was just the right balance of strong and tough but still feminine and had emotions and was allowed to cry. Anyway, at fourteen, I was just starting to get into writing and I wasn't really very good at it yet. I created a character named Taryn Myranda (where that name came from I have no idea and why it had so many Ys I can't tell you) who was Kira's niece. Myranda was everything I wanted to be and everything I admired about in Kira - tough, fiery, and stubborn. She was as much of a typical fanfiction character as you could imagine. She always saved the day and was the perfect heroine, but I loved writing her and I loved her.</p>
<p>I recently rewatched Deep Space Nine all the way through for the first time in years and as I was watching it, I remembered Myranda and how much I loved her and loved writing her. I remembered that the basic idea of my plot was "Kira suddenly has to raise a child she never knew about and learn how to actually be part of a family with a girl who's just as confused and broken as she is" and decided it actually wasn't a half bad idea. I decided to rewrite it and my character and fix some of cringey fourteen-year-old ideas and make something that was actually half way good. </p>
<p>I wanted to keep some aspects of the story the same (including most of Myranda's backstory and yes, the truly terrible way I chose to spell her name!) and tried to come up with explanations of why some things would be like that (like the fact she's a Lieutenant and the fact that the beginning explains a lot of her backstory - I had to keep it straight for myself!). </p>
<p>I've always loved Deep Space Nine and getting to write or attempt to write a character I've admired for so long like Kira has been a really fun project! It's been fun watching Myranda "grow up" with me and she'll always be my favorite character to write. :) I grew up writing a character who was trying so hard to find her place and her family, and as she found hers on Deep Space Nine, I found mine in my life, too.</p>
<p>I don't know if I'll ever end up finishing it since I eventually want to write Myranda's story through the entirety of DS9, but I wanted to post what I had just to archive it somewhere and hopefully so some other people can enjoy it as well.</p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I have too many names.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My mother wanted to name me Neva, a name that matched with her daughter’s name, Nerys.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One: Kira Neva.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My father didn’t want his Cardassian daughter stuck with a Bajorian name. He proposed Zyah, a name that matched with <em>his </em>recently born daughter’s name, Ziyal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two: Zyah Dukat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They compromised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three: Kira Zyah.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three names, all before I was born.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My father decided he didn’t want me to have a Bajorian name or really me at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or my mother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d found a new Bajorian love-of-his-life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So my mother, humiliated and terrified her family would never forgive her for having a Cardassian baby, ran.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She ran so far, she ran into the Federation, whisked away in the good will of the saviors of the galaxy. On the Federation colony where she had me, she panicked. Instead of owning up to the fact her baby was half-Cardassian, she claimed she was half-human instead and named her Myranda O’Hara. My mother didn’t know how to use the alphabet and Myranda-with-a-Y stuck as name number four.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It turns out that she made one good choice and one bad one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The good one was the fact she died before the Cardassians attacked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bad one is that she picked a Federation colony that was attacked by Cardassians.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And what did an up and coming officer of the Obsidian Order find when he arrived on this now conquered colony?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Cardassian baby.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he took this Cardassian baby back to his childless wife, and took that baby in.</p>
<p>Eventually they got tired of calling me “it,” so they dug up my Cardassian records and found out my name was supposed to be Zyah.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of the officers who trained me called me Zyah Taryn, the last name of the man who was…well, as much of a father as high-ranking officer in a secret police force could be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Zyah made my skin crawl because I figured out who my father was and decided I didn’t appreciate getting tossed out like garbage, so my friends still called me Myranda, making Myranda Taryn and Zyah Taryn names six and seven on my list.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Name eight was the name I used on the errands the Order had me run. Meru, because it was the same name as my mother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, you see why when the red-haired lady asks what my name is – I hesitate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Taryn Myranda”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A Bajorian version of my Cardassian name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And name number nine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, your Bajorian name would be Kira Myranda?” she glances down at the pad, double checking herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Name number 10. I’ll be sure and add it to the list.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks up from the pad, and I see flickers of anger. “You guess?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re the one with the pad. You look.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She puts her hands on her hips, looking me over. “I see you have Cardassian manners.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Starfleet actually. Acting Lieutenant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Didn’t Starfleet teach you to respect your superiors?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Must have skipped that day. Remember, I’m only an <em>acting </em>lieutenant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well then, Lieutenant, be sure to tell Commander Sisko that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My pleasure. By the way, I prefer Taryn to Kira.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever you want.” The woman holds out her arm, pointing me down the hallway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, tell me, Lieutenant-“ she looks over at me as we turn and step onto a turbolift. “Ops.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I shift in my boots, the leather creaking slightly. I’m almost taller than her in these heels. I take a small sense of pride in that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s just something about her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The way she carries herself, the tight Bajorian uniform, the angry look on her fact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I hate Bajorians.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How was the Occupation from your side? I’ve heard you worked with the Obsidian Order. Must have been tough, being Bajorian and all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I glance over at her and guess the Occupation for her was something she hasn’t easily forgotten. “I’m half-Bajorian. I suppose that made it a little easier on me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s silent for a second, and then adds, “I see the Cardassians were desperate enough to have children working for them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I ignore the barb, settling my hands behind my back again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Welcome to ops,” she steps off the turbo lift right when it comes to a jolting stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you for the tour, but I’ve been on Cardassian space stations before,” I step off behind her, brushing past and heading towards to the double doors at the top of the stairs. “I’m assuming this is Commander Sisko’s office?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I thought you didn’t need a tour of the station.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just checking.” I press the button by the side of the door, and then look back at the woman standing beside me. For a second, we make eye contact, and I realize we have the same eyes. Chocolate brown, almost black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before either of us can say anything, the doors slide open, and I step in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You must be Myranda.” The tall man behind the desk reaches forward for the ball perched on a display, twirling it in his hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How unprofessional. But I can be professional in unprofessional situations.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir. You must be Commander Sisko.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He chuckles and twirls the ball again. “At ease, Lieutenant.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am.” I shift my weight slightly on my heels, and then on a whim, pull the chair that’s in front of his desk out, and sit down, crossing my legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t say sit down.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said at ease, Lieutenant.” I wrap my hands around my knee. “I was trained to follow orders, <em>sir</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sisko puts the ball down on his desk again, looking me over as we make steely eye contact across the desk. “Starfleet warned me you might be difficult.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take that as a compliment.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And a bit argumentative.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I won’t fight it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He raises an eyebrow, and then opens his eyes wide and resettles in his seat. “Well. Starfleet is looking to help the Bajorian people rebuild. And part of that is restoring Bajorians who were kidnapped and…” he looks at me, pressing the tips of his fingers together as if trying to find the right word. “-<em>transformed</em> by the Cardassians and returning them to their homes and families.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was aware of that, sir. After I was debriefed by Starfleet, they informed me I’d be turned over to my closest living Bajorian relative. I believe her name is Major Kira Nerys and that she serves aboard the station.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes,” Sisko says, and opens his mouth, and I cut him off without thinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look. I’ve been living on my own for years. I don’t need a <em>babysitter</em>. I may be sixteen, but I don’t need a family. This wasn’t my idea.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I gather that, Lieutenant. Around here we have a policy of not interrupting our commanding officers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I look down at my boot, biting back the irritation I feel. “I apologize, sir. I don’t want to be here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I understand. My son doesn’t want to be here either. But we’re both a little stuck.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Our eyes meet over the desk, and I see Sisko’s soften just a little. I have to wonder how old his son is. That’d be an important piece of information to have. A point I can use to manipulate him. Remind him of his son.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As for the Major,” he glances over at the woman who escorted me to his office and then back at me. “According to Bajorian law, you are technically a minor. You need a guardian. Luckily, your aunt, if I can understand your complicated family history, has agreed to take custody of you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“When do I meet her?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You already have.” He motions to the woman who is still eyeing me up like a I’m a threat and hasn’t said a word yet. “Lieutenant, meet Major Kira Nerys.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lesson number one in becoming a Cardassian spy. You don’t show your emotions. You use them. You’re stone cold against your enemies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I break that silent pact I have with my emotions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My mouth drops open as I look over at her and see her press her lips together in a firm line. “I don’t like this anymore then you. Until I can contact my brothers or find them, you’re stuck with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I think about the awkward turbo lift ride, the cutting remarks we exchanged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ouch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“More like you’re stuck with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Both of you are dismissed.” Sisko opens the door with a touch of the button by his desk. “Major, please help the Lieutenant settle in.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We step out of his office with a curt nod and an awkward silence that settles heavy over us. We say nothing until the doors of the lift lock.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not going to be a mother to you. I don’t know how, mine died when I was three.” She turns on me, taking a step towards me so she’s right in front of me, forcing me to meet her eyes. “But let’s get one thing clear. I am your commanding officer whether I am your aunt or not, is that understood?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perfectly, Major.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good.” She steps away from me and we go silent again before she breaks it. “I hope you know this is temporary.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Temporary?” I look over at her, arching an eyebrow. “As far as I’m aware, and Cardassian records are much better than Bajorian ones, trust me, I don’t have any living <em>Bajorian</em> relatives left except for you, Major. So you’re stuck with me until I’m no longer considered a child.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The doors open before she has a chance to respond, and we step into the hallway. She’s silent again as I follow her, taking note. First left, three doors on the right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She presses the button by the door and steps in. “You’re not allowed to have your own quarters at your age.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What a surprise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you’ll be staying with me. Sisko’s orders,” she tacks on at the end, as if afraid I’ll blame her for this as well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see you haven’t had a chance to decorate.” The quarters are stark Cardassian issue, and there’s couch and random table pushed against the wall. There’s a grey storage box on the floor next to the replicator, and a bag on top of it, clothes spilling out the top.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only thing I notice hanging on the wall is right in front of me. “That’s a prayer medallion thing, isn’t it?” I point at it, turning to face Kira, whose hand is on a security pad by the grey doors on the other end of the quarters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know what that is? I’m surprised the Cardassians told you about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I turn back to look at it, almost mesmerized by the swirling golden loops. “There was one at the Bajorian orphanage. It’s the only thing I remember.” I shake my head, as if trying to clear the image from my head. “I remember throwing a rock at it for some reason when I was really young. I got in trouble since I broke one of the loops off.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kira’s face clouds and I see her take a long, stabilizing breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll remember not to keep anything you can throw at it around.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s almost smiling, <em>almost</em>, as she opens the door. “I guess Commander Sisko saw this coming because I was assigned family quarters. I was planning on using this as an office, but-“ she trails off, motioning me in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I step over the threshold, and it’s about as typical of a Cardassian room as you can imagine. Drawers built into the wall with a mirror above them, desk pressed against the wall opposite the bed. Grey, cold, practical.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very…plain.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was going to say very Cardassian. You’ll fit in quite well.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second of bonding we had over the prayer medallion is gone with a flash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I set my bag down on my bed, looking over at her. “I’m sorry I took your office.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I didn’t think Cardassians apologized.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not Cardassian, technically. Half-human, half-Bajorian.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Could have fooled me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “Do you have a problem with me, Major?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have a problem with what your people did to my home.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I had nothing to do with that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry if I don’t exactly trust Cardassians.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t think I am who I say I am?” I reach into the side pocket of my bag, pulling a small thin object out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not exactly. Apparently, your story has been verified by Starfleet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah, but you don’t trust them either.” I hold out the thin rectangle. “Authentic Bajorian data chip. Starfleet used this to trace who I am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She takes it from my hand and turns it over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s from your mother. About your sister. Neva.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That gets the reaction I would imagine from her, a tight smile and a look of distrust and pain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll let you unpack.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She starts to step through the door, and then stops. “Call me Kira.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure that isn’t too friendly for a Cardassian?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks down at the data chip and then back at me. “Not for a Bajorian,” she says as the door shuts behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I sit down on the bed and let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I look around the room and realize it’s almost identical to my room on Cardassia.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I squeeze my eyes shut, and I could almost go back there. In four years, I would have had the choice to leave the Order. You never truly, <em>truly </em>leave, but at least I could have moved on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I could have worked at the Cardassian Science Directive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s letting my feelings get in the way of what would have really happened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I would have had to stay in the Order. Stay loyal to my family, stay loyal to what they chose in Cardassian society.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There wouldn’t have been another choice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I slide off the bed, unzip my bag, and start taking out my clothes to put them away. Crossing the room to open one of the drawers, I stop in front of the mirror, staring at the girl staring back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The last time I looked at myself, I had straight, black hair, skin tinged grey, the faintest outline of Cardassian ridges on my face and down my neck, and the ridges on my nose that made me not quite fully Cardassian.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The girl staring back has red, curly hair, pale, pink-ish skin, and the only ridges on her face are on her nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perfectly altered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A perfectly altered, half-human, half-Bajorian girl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I woke up like this one morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No explanation, nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just told by your father that this is who you were now and you were serving your people.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>How?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, that’s an Order secret and that’s not your concern.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And now I’m staring at this girl in the mirror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s like looking at a copy of you, but a messed up, broken copy. Exactly you, exactly not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I hate it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I hate her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s like I’m wearing a mask I’ll never be able to take off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My fingers curl and the uniform I’m holding slips out of my fingers, and I can’t take it anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can’t look at that <em>thing</em> in the mirror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My fist slams against the glass and it shatters into a million different cracks, but the girl, the <em>Bajorian </em>version of me is still there. Shattered into a million pieces, crying. I cover my mouth with my hands, sliding down onto the floor, shaking with sobs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I want to go home.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I don’t even know what that word means, but I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that’s all I know how to do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I force the tears back inside, catching my breath, slowing breathing out until I feel calm, slowly picking myself back off the floor, slowly repressing all the feelings I just felt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I catch myself in the mirror again, shattered and spread across the fragments of glass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>You and I need to learn to work together because I’m going to be you for a very, very long time.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Broken Truths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The mirror in my room broke.” I step out of my room looking at Kira, who’s sitting at her desk by the oval window.</p><p> </p><p>Cardassians don’t like Vulcans, but we have one thing in common: emotional control. I push the pain and tears and emotions deep down inside, rearranging my face into the perfect emotionless mask.</p><p> </p><p>For a second, I remember what it was like before I could just shove all my feelings inside and never let them out. And all the pain and fear and terror coming flooding back for just a moment.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it isn’t all Cardassians. Maybe it’s just me.</p><p> </p><p>She looks up from the computer screen, looking confused for a moment. “I’ll call the Chief to fix it. How did that happen? Did you throw something at it?”</p><p> </p><p>It’s almost a joke. And it’s a little too close to what actually happened. “Uh, no.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where did you get the chip?”</p><p> </p><p>I cross the room, moving a pile of clothes, and sitting down on the couch across from her. “It was given to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“By who?”</p><p> </p><p>I can sense the fact she doesn’t quite believe the video, doesn’t quite believe the story.</p><p> </p><p>I wouldn’t either.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a massive lie.</p><p> </p><p>Just like everything else about me.</p><p> </p><p>The orphanage?</p><p> </p><p>Never been.</p><p> </p><p>The chip?</p><p> </p><p>Fabricated three weeks ago on Cardassia.</p><p> </p><p>But I was told to sell the story. Sell who I was. A poor innocent Bajorian orphan.</p><p> </p><p>Definitely <em>not </em>still a Cardassian spy.</p><p> </p><p>“The Bajorian vedeks at the orphanage gave it to me. The one was named Bareil.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I suppose after that you were handed over to the Cardassians?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not by the Vedek’s choice, don’t worry they’re not <em>that </em>self-absorbed.” Our eyes meet, and I can feel her studying me.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t trust me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think anyone raised by Cardassians has the ability to tell the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>I almost want to laugh when she says that.</p><p>Oh, if she only knew.</p><p> </p><p>“You might not trust me, Major, but Starfleet does and so does everyone else on this station.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t exactly say that.” I watch her walk to the replicator, careful to never exactly turn her back to me.</p><p> </p><p>She’s smart.</p><p> </p><p>“Raktijino.” The drink syntheses with a swirl of orange light and she takes it out, carefully sipping on it. “I read your file that Starfleet gave me on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” I pull my legs up on the couch, tucking them under me.</p><p> </p><p>“The Cardassians didn’t treat you very well, did they? I mean, genetic modification at ten, intense psychological testing at twelve, used in an intelligence mission at thirteen...” she trails off, sipping on her raktijino.</p><p> </p><p>I look up at her, and for second, I feel like I’m trapped in that little grey room. I can feel the sting of the needles, the flooding back of the memories, the feeling of confusion right after…</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re trying, Major.” The words fall flat, all the energy sucked right out of them. “If you’re trying to convince me that all Cardassians are evil, you won’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just want you to see what <em>your </em>people did to my home. Why I’m not exactly ready to trust you.”</p><p> </p><p>“My people? Yours chased me out of the orphanage because I was dropped off by a Cardassian guard who felt bad for me.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I shouldn’t have said that.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>That isn’t in any of the reports.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Crap, crap, CRAP.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Rule One of lying? You have to start with a kernel of truth for it to hold up, and that had absolutely no kernel of truth.</p><p> </p><p>Really even a molecule of truth.</p><p> </p><p>“You were occupying our home!”</p><p> </p><p>I look at her, eyes flashing, setting down her coffee, crossing her arms. She looks like she’s ready for a fight.</p><p> </p><p>Like all the Bajorians I met.</p><p> </p><p>The one time I was taken along by my father on a mission on Bajor, some of the local kids took one look at the half-Bajorian, half-Cardassian child and saw it as one of the military leaders attacking their home.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like the sting of the knife one particularly evil-minded child tried to use to cut off the ridges on my neck. My Cardassian ridges.</p><p> </p><p>I might be surgically altered to look half-human and half-Bajorian right now, but the scar still remains.</p><p> </p><p>I’m tired of her self-righteous, freedom fighter crap.</p><p> </p><p>“I was <em>four</em>!” I lift my hair, the bright red scar coiling down my neck.</p><p> </p><p>I see Kira flinch, visibly so when I show her.</p><p> </p><p>“One of her your precious Bajorian orphans decided that I just had to go because the ridges on my nose weren’t as pronounced as yours.” I let my hair fall back down over my shoulders, staring at her. “I might have been a Cardassian science experiment, but at least their experiments didn’t leave scars.”</p><p> </p><p>I see Kira’s eyes immediately soften when she looks at me. Is it…pity? Sympathy? I don’t honestly know.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t say all Bajorians were saints.”</p><p> </p><p>I look down at my lap, squeezing my fists I didn’t know I was clenching tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“Taryn-“</p><p> </p><p>I jump slightly, realizing she’s moved to sit beside me, propping her legs up on the table in front of her, hand behind her head.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t going to be easy on either of us.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to be here,” I finally say, softly.</p><p> </p><p>“I know.”</p><p> </p><p>We’re silent for a moment, until Kira reaches over and brushes the hair off my neck, revealing my scar. “We can get Dr. Bashir to fix it. Bajorian medics aren’t the best, especially during the occupation.”</p><p> </p><p>I flinch a bit when her fingers brush my neck, and she pulls back. “I’m not going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know that,” I say honestly, looking her up and down.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going to have to learn to trust each other, I guess.” Kira stands up and walks over to the replicator. “Raktijino.”</p><p> </p><p>I watch the second cup of coffee materlize and she holds it out to me. “Do you like coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>“Never had it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here.”</p><p> </p><p>I stand up, and carefully take the hot mug out of her hands, then take a sip. It’s bitter, sweet, and strong all mixed together.</p><p> </p><p>“Good?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Kira smiles, a genuine smile, and I can’t help but smile back.</p><p> </p><p>She sits back down on the couch with her raktijino, feet on the table again, and I notice that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sit properly on anything, to be frank.</p><p> </p><p>I sit next to her, and we’re silent, sipping on our raktijinos.</p><p> </p><p>“Kira?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“The mirror in my quarters?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes…?”</p><p> </p><p>“I broke it.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks over at me, and for a moment, I recoil, afraid of what she’ll say or do. That suddenly this easy peace we’ve establish will evaporate as quick as the steam from my coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve broken my fair share of furniture. I’ll call the Chief tomorrow.” She takes another sip, reaching for a pad beside her.</p><p> </p><p>I feel myself relax, and I get a bit more comfortable, mirror her position.</p><p> </p><p>She glances over and smiles, sliding a pad over at me. I pick it up, and pretend to read, but really, I’m lost in thought.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe…maybe I can trust her.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>I look over, giving her a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Maybe I can find a family.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>_____________________________________________</em>
</p><p>They give me a few days to settle in.</p><p> </p><p>After our raktijino bonding session, me and Kira don’t know what to think of each other. I don’t reveal any deeply kept secrets and Kira doesn’t ask.</p><p> </p><p>I do notice, however, the Chief drops by and repairs the mirror in my room without a second word to Kira.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t like Cardassians.</p><p> </p><p>Or Cardassians he doesn’t even know are Cardassians.</p><p> </p><p>He gives me a look when he leaves, nodding at Major Kira and it makes me shrink, makes me feel like I did on Cardassia – like I don’t belong.</p><p> </p><p>I stay mostly locked in my room, draping a towel over the mirror so I don’t have to look at <em>her</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Sisko’s given me various Cardassian codes he wants “broken” but I doubt it’s very vital.</p><p> </p><p>When I don’t sleep because of the nightmares, I pour over the tiny fragments of code, trying to piece together meaningless transmissions that I know are just a test of loyalty.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t want to be here and no one else wants me to be here either.</p><p> </p><p>That’s what the look the Chief gave me that second day means. And I take it to heart. If I just stay in this tiny room, with my tiny fragments of code, I can rebuild the mask I cracked the first night.</p><p> </p><p>Tiny piece by tiny piece.</p><p> </p><p>I’m sitting on my bed, pads surrounding me, and a stack of raktijino mugs a mile high on the table by my bed. I attempt to balance another one of the stack as I finish off what must be my fourth one that day.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been a mother and a father, and I can tell you it’s not easy.”</p><p> </p><p>I stop moving, holding my breath, trying to catch the voice that floats in from the living area of Kira’s quarters.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to be her mother!”</p><p> </p><p>That voice is Kira’s – sharp, angry, but with a touch of emotion I’m not used to hearing.</p><p> </p><p>“You are going to end up being a mother figure to her in some way. She’s a terrified sixteen-year-old. In some ways, she’s very much a little girl.” The voice that’s talking is soft and sounds young, but yet somehow, so much older.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m no counselor. I didn’t have a counselor when I had to grow up without a family because of what those people – <em>her </em>people – did to mine!”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s <em>sixteen</em>, Kira. She’s never had a family either because of what <em>her </em>people did to yours. She doesn’t need a counselor. She needs love.”</p><p> </p><p>Love? I don’t want love.</p><p> </p><p>I just want to be left alone.</p><p> </p><p>But I’d also really like to know who’s talking about me. Assuming they know me.</p><p> </p><p>“Love?” Kira’s voice almost breaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you do, too, Major.”</p><p> </p><p>I step out of my room, and both women turn to look at me.</p><p> </p><p>One of them has dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, spots lining the borders of her pretty face, running down her neck and disappearing into her uniform. Her blues eyes meet mine, and she smiles, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a warmer smile.</p><p> </p><p>“You must be Myranda. Nerys was just telling me about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nerys?”</p><p> </p><p>“Telling you about me?”</p><p> </p><p>Kira and I speak at the same time, in the exact same surprised tone and the woman laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I’m Lieutenant Jadzia Dax.” She holds out her hand, and I notice the spots are all the way down to her wrist. “You can call me Jadzia. I think we’re going to be friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“Taryn Myranda. And I don’t want to make friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Dax smiles, clasping her hands behind her back. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Friendship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where did Kira go?”</p><p> </p><p>Dax looks up from her raktijino, hair still pinned back in that ever-present ponytail, and I realize I’ve never seen her hair down in the three weeks I’ve known her.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, my whole speech about not wanting to make friends?</p><p> </p><p>Dax is <em>impossible</em> not to love.</p><p> </p><p>Even for me.</p><p> </p><p>“Kira left on some Bajorian thing.” Dax pats the bar stool next to her. “Sit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bajorian thing?” I slide onto the bar stool. “What kind of Bajorian thing?”</p><p> </p><p>Dax shrugs. “There was a member of the Kohn-ma that came aboard the station and Kira’s taking him on a tour.” She slides a pad across to me. “Sisko wants these records pulled.”</p><p> </p><p>The words <em>kohn-ma </em>sends a shiver down my spine, and I remember splinters of memories of hiding in the streets as the kohn-ma attacked another Cardassian base.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” Dax puts a hand on my shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I just need more coffee,” I laugh, but it sounds fake.</p><p> </p><p>Dax waves Quark over, orders me a raktijino as I put my head down, and start looking over the list of records. All related to the <em>kohn-ma.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Myranda, I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.” Dax slides out of her seat. “Enjoy the coffee, it’s on me.”</p><p> </p><p>I smile and nod, turning back to the pad, looking over the names.</p><p> </p><p>“Kanar.”</p><p> </p><p>My head shoots up, and I can almost taste the bitter, salty liquid on my tongue. Non-Cardassians almost never drink it, finding it too fishy and bitter to swallow. Which meant …</p><p> </p><p>Across the bar, leaning against the counter is a Cardassian. A tall, older man, with a deceptively charming smile.</p><p> </p><p>We make eye contact, and I quickly look away, back to the pad in front of me.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I know him.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>That smile makes me uncomfortable in a way that I know all too well.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps you care to explain why you keep looking at me.”</p><p> </p><p>I hear a voice by my ear, and quickly turn, and meet the Cardassian’s eyes, as he slides into the seat by me.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my hair. It doesn’t stay, stupid curls.</p><p> </p><p>“Now come on now, I’m the only Cardassian on this station. There aren’t many people you could mistake me for.”</p><p> </p><p>I can feel him studying me, and I start to slide off the chair. “You’d be surprised how many people look Cardassian around here.”</p><p> </p><p>My boots touch the ground, and I step away, before I feel a hand on my arm. I glance back at him, and he looks me up and down. “Just a friendly tip, my dear. I think you’d look better with black hair, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>I pull my arm free from his grip. “I don’t need your advice. Leave me alone!” The words come out too angry and too loud, and a few of the other patrons turn and look at us.</p><p> </p><p>“You always were just a little too Bajorian for Cardassia, weren’t you?” He chuckles. “Elim Garak. Do you remember me?” His voice drops. “You almost fought me in the hallway of your father’s house to defend his honor. A good little daughter of Cardassia. Oh, how far we’ve all fallen.”</p><p> </p><p>I’m about to scream, tell him I don’t know him and make a big show of calling for security, but I stop, hearing that sadness in his voice. And I remember that moment in that hallway where Tain’s son called my father a disgrace to Cardassia and a sympathizer.</p><p> </p><p>I remember Garak laughing and telling my father he should be proud that he managed to convert a Bajorian girl into loving Cardassia as much as she did.</p><p> </p><p>I remember telling him that I was Cardassian, and I’d cut the ridges off my nose if I could.</p><p> </p><p>The next year, Garak was gone. Sent into exile.</p><p> </p><p>And I followed him apparently.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, how the mighty have fallen.</p><p> </p><p>I sink down into my seat. “I’m Bajorian now,” I say softly. “I was never Cardassian.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m a tailor,” he looks at me. “I saw those ridges on your neck when you were a girl. You’re Cardassian.”</p><p> </p><p>I shoot him a look, suddenly the raktijino in front of me not strong enough for the conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“You tell someone I’m Cardassian, and I’ll tell them what I know about you,” I hiss at him.</p><p> </p><p>“And what <em>do </em>you know, Zyah?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s Myranda. Kira Myranda, actually.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah. So, you’re related to the charming Major. I’m guessing she’s unaware of your true heritage.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m sure everyone here is unaware you’re still an active Obsidian Order agent.”</p><p> </p><p>Our eyes meet, a face off of secrets. We both know too much. We both have fathers in the Obsidian Order.</p><p> </p><p>Garak knows that he’s older, he’s been through more, seen more. Compared to him, I’m just a child.</p><p> </p><p>A child with <em>really </em>great connections, though.</p><p> </p><p>Connections that fell from grace, but still.</p><p> </p><p>My security codes may have been low-level by Obsidian Order standards, but a list of active agents isn’t exactly highly classified material when your father helped run the Order.</p><p> </p><p>Garak’s silent and I’m silent with him. We’ve reached a standstill and we both know it.</p><p> </p><p>“It is good to talk to someone who spent some time on Cardassia,” Garak finally says. “Cardassian or not.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives me another charming smile, and even though I know the words are only there to seal the deal, to buy my silence, he’s not wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Cardassia’s not exactly home anymore, but either is Deep Space Nine.</p><p> </p><p>At least Garak knows a good drink.</p><p> </p><p>I smile and hold out my hand. “It is good to meet a simple, plain tailor, Mr. Garak.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, likewise, Lieutenant. Likewise.” He lets go off my hand. “Would you like some kanar?”</p><p> </p><p>“Love some.”</p><p> </p><p>We may have hated each other in our Order days or more accurately, I hated him and my father hated his, but on Deep Space Nine, isolated from our people, we’re happy to talk to anyone.</p><p> </p><p>Cardassia’s a painful subject for us both, but we talk about it anyway, in bits and pieces. Long silences sipping on kanar, where I’m working on the research on the kohn-ma, when one of us will break it, and mention some place, some food, some book and the other one will remember it like it was yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>“Kira to Taryn. Report to the infirmary now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Acknowledged.” I drain the last of the kanar out of the glass and slide out of my seat. “Mr. Garak, it’s been a pleasure.”</p><p> </p><p>“Likewise, Lieutenant.” He holds out his hand and I shake it, even giving him a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>You know when your options for company are limited…or maybe Cardassian traitors aren’t the worst company.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Lieutenant?”</p><p> </p><p>I stop in the doorway of the bar, turning back. “Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you read <em>The Never-Ending Sacrifice</em>?” Garak holds out a Cardassian data rod to me. “I was just finishing it for the second time and I do believe you’re the only other person on this station that could truly appreciate its beauty.”</p><p> </p><p>I take the data rod gratefully and give him another smile. “I love reading. There’s nothing good in the computer. They deleted all the Cardassian literature.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly my feeling! We may have more in common than you think, Lieutenant.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives me another one of those charming, sneaking smiles and I know I don’t trust him.</p><p> </p><p>A feeling I miss.</p><p> </p><p>On Cardassia, everything is grey. From the motivations of the people you’re around, to the buildings, to the very skin of its people. You never know who you can trust.</p><p> </p><p>It’s almost comforting when that’s all you’ve ever known.</p><p> </p><p>Deep Space Nine and the Federation is so black and white, everything so crystal clear.</p><p> </p><p>“Kira to Taryn. Are you coming, Lieutenant?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” I nod at Garak as I step through the doorway and onto the promenade.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>